He crossed around to the other side of the table and picked up a bowl of chestnuts, slitting the skins with a sharp knife. His eyes only left me for brief seconds.
I paused. “Don’t cut yourself.”
His eyes squinted with amusement. “If I do, it’s for a good cause.”
I pulled the embroidered wool dress over my head, and then the softer, thinner gown beneath. I was down to my linen shift and good petticoat. I reached for my shoes.
“No, no, my Gretel,” he said. “The shoes come last.”
Somehow, I had already known he wouldn’t let me get away with that. I let the petticoat drop to the floor and pulled off the shift, baring myself to him. No man had ever seen me like this before, but I disliked my innocence. I would have shed it long ago if I could. I smothered my hesitations, letting him admire me and resisting the urge to shield myself, even my imperfections. I was certainly too thin, and my face and arms had suffered from many sunburns, leaving me with freckles and something of an agitated tan there, while from breasts to legs I was white as milk. No lady would have tolerated such an appearance.
I am not sure he saw any of that. He looked at me like I was everything he had ever yearned for. “That’s better,” he said. “I know you’re not shy. Enough pretending. Are you a virgin, Gretel?”
My mouth pinched in distaste. “I don’t like the word. But yes. I’m not a fool. If I had a baby out of wedlock, well, I’m sure you know what humans think of that.”
“You’ve done other things, then?” he said, almost casually.
“I don’t trust the boys in town not to blabber,” I said. “So, no.”
“But you touch yourself?”
I was a little flustered at his frankness.
He chuckled, sliding the chestnuts into the oven. “All right, then. You are a little shy. Just a little. Go ahead and get your shoes off.”
I bent over and unlaced my well-worn boots. I knew he had a nice view of my ass while I did so. I took off my wool stockings, which were really much too warm for this room.
“You are beautiful,” he said gruffly, the tone of a man trying not to show how much something affected him. “I have not seen such a sight in years…”
“I’ve heard faeries are quite promiscuous,” I said, wondering how many girls he’d seen and been with before me.
“Generally, yes. The Wicked Revels, in particular, is a place with no inhibitions and every sort of sensory delight.” His expression briefly drifted. “The girls there don’t wear much. And they liked to catch my eye, back in those days. But there are also rules and codes of conduct, meant to protect the guests.” He put down the knife and picked up a smooth stick, rather like a baton or a wand, instead, using it to point me toward the restraints behind me.
“Step back, Gretel. I think you can figure it out.”
I swallowed, a wave of trepidation making me sway a little. I had never given up control like this before.
He nudged my hip with the wand. I backed my ankles up into the restraints. Footholds were built into the arms of the rack, along with little ridges of support to help hold up my upper arms and thighs. Or were they to support me? Maybe they were to keep me from closing my thighs once I was trapped. The smooth pieces of wood hugged my bare skin. As soon as I touched the bonds, he tapped the wand and the wood closed around me with a clunk. He pressed my wrists back with the side of the wand, and tapped those restraints as well.
Heat twisted my core. His cock was a stiff shape in his trousers. I already wanted him to do something to me. Anything.
He stood over me, his face drawing closer than we had been before. He put a hand flat on the wall behind me, the plain gray cotton of his shirt strained against his broad shoulder. His golden eyes were beautiful and a little unearthly. I couldn’t look at them for too long.
He slid the tip of the wand between the wet folds of my sex. The thin, hard flick of sensation was over too fast. He sucked my juices off the tip.
A faint smile twitched at the edges of his mouth. “That is powerful magic,” he said. “If you are not the one, you are, at least, worth a try.”
Now he used the wand to guide the restraints. When he touched the tip of the wand to the wood, it locked on like a magnet. He lifted my arms out to my sides and spread my legs wider until I could feel the air on my inner folds and knew my clit was exposed to him.
“It is better not to have anything in the way,” he said. “But this won’t cut you. It’s magic.” He opened a drawer of the kitchen cabinet and took out a small golden knife. He crouched before me and slid the blade carefully along the mounds of my pussy, using the tip of the wand to manipulate my folds so he didn’t have to touch me. All of this was a terrible tease. I wanted to grab his hair. I already craved his touch so badly that my untouched skin seemed to ache all over. My fingers grasped and clenched at the open air and I drew tense breaths. I felt my juices trickling down my leg. He scraped the tip of the wand along my inner thigh and took another taste.
“Ah, dear one, and this is only the first evening…” He stood up again and now he was so close that just a shift of his hips would have rubbed his cock against my bare stomach. “This is the first evening of the rest of your life with me. How do you feel?”
“I want to be touched,” I said, unable to pretend.
“You certainly do,” he said. “I will know everything you feel. What do you suppose happens when I take this feeling that radiates off of you and turn it into spell work that goes into every confection the revelers will taste? They won’t be able to say what it is, but they will never have eaten anything so delicious in their lives.” He looked at me almost like he was proud of me. “Can you stay like this, my sweet? If you can stay like this, you will be rewarded with a feast of feasts.”
“Yes…” I wouldn’t really know unless I tried, would I? At any rate, I wasn’t moving until he chose to free me.
He went back to his work, and I watched him peel chestnuts and boil them with milk and mash them into a paste, finally whipping them with cocoa powder and sugar into a warm brown, lustrous filling for little baked pastry cups. A different cream, flavored with cinnamon and sweet wine, filled chocolates. Little tarts received a daub of quince jam before he crimped them shut. And then, there were cakes, with layers of frosting of different flavors and colors.
I’m not sure how he produced all this in one night, nor how I stayed there to watch all that time. There was magic in this place, that was sure. I loved watching him; the speed and skill with which he created these astonishing confections. I had never been so stimulated, by all the smells of chocolate, baking pastry, spices and simmering cream, the blasts of warm air that brushed my bare skin when he opened the oven door, and most of all, the way he watched me in return. I fueled his work. I had only known him for this short time, but I could already tell he had more energy as the night went on. His pale skin seemed to take on a faint glow.
If my desire for him started to wane in the least, he would walk over to me briskly. The first time he did this, suddenly crossing the room toward me without warning, I held my breath. He touched the wand to my clit and flicked it back and forth across the tender nub until I moaned. I was wet again in no time, and he took another taste, and then resumed what he was doing.
We didn’t speak much that night. He had never told me not to speak, and I don’t think he would have scolded me if I had, but it felt like the spell cast on us would be broken. Our understanding of one another was taking shape without words.
Then, as the sun was rising, I heard horses.
Alarm flickered across his face before he regained calm. He quickly freed me from my bonds, so quickly that I stumbled out of them. He yanked a curtain across to hide the rack. “Get in the pantry,” he said, pointing at the narrow door, “and hide there. Don’t make a sound until I tell you.”
This was no time for questions. I rushed toward the door on legs that were a little shaky from being caught in the same position for so long and shut mys
elf in the dark room, kneeling on the hard stone floor. I knew the room well already; I had been watching him take things in and out all night.
I heard a knock on the door and the Magus answered in a smooth voice. “Good morning, King Will. This is a surprise.”
“Is it? Just a routine inspection. I pay them to everyone.”
“Yes, you are very thorough with maintenance, I’ve noticed.”
“Spare me,” said King Will. The King of the Revels? I wondered. “I just want to look in on the operations.” His voice was drawing closer now as he came through the door to the kitchens. “I know very well that when you were the King of the Revels, maintenance and inspections were the last thing on your mind.”
At first I wondered if he misspoke, but the Magus didn’t correct him.
“Are you really going to mock me for insufficient inspections? Human,” the Magus said, scornfully. “You’ll always be a human, even if your eyes turn gold, even if you speak to my trees.”
“And you will always be a exile,” King Will replied, not backing down in the least.
“I wouldn’t get too cocky. Many of my people have trouble stomaching a human in charge.”
“I’m here because ‘your’ people put me there. Even when your sentence ends, you’re not welcome in court.”
The revelation struck me like lightning. The Magus used to be a Faery King…now he was merely the baker of the court. Why had he been exiled?
Why would the faeries exile the Magus and instill a human king? I needed to find out.
Chapter Five
Gretel
King Will and the Magus exchanged a few more barbs before he left and the pantry door opened.
“You’re free now,” he said. “You are permitted to put your clothes on and have your feast.”
My eyes must have been full of questions, but I chose one first. “You used to be the King of the Wicked Revels?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Some of it. Over dinner.”
I pulled on my shift and plain dress. He set the table with another beautiful meal. When Hansel was here, I was still a little too nervous to eat my fill, but now I could hardly help myself. The leg of lamb was so savory that I had to keep reminding myself not to shovel it in my mouth like a boor.
I think he drank more wine than ate. He seemed agitated, his fingers twisting together. “Gretel,” he said. “When I was the King of the Wicked Revels, I made some serious mistakes. Despite my bitterness over being usurped, it’s a truth I can’t deny.”
“What sort of mistakes? Isn’t the Wicked Revels mainly just a dance?”
“The Wicked Revels is much more than a dance. It’s a place to explore all of one’s desires. But it is also supposed to be safe. As the king, it was my job to make sure that no one felt like they might be taken advantage of. After I claimed the throne, I was so happy to be free that I failed in my duty. I didn’t oversee my guards as I should, and they were spending more time flirting than watching over the dance. A rogue faery man arrived at the revels and raped several of the girls. At the subsequent council where the girls attested to his crimes before me…I couldn’t bear the fear and hurt on their faces. I had failed them. What should have been a place of pleasure and security had now given them a pain to carry all their lives.”
“Oh, Magus…”
He shook his head. “My attempt to correct that tragedy only made it worse. I used my magic to create a new rule. All the girls would be given masks to wear, created from a piece of wood from the oldest tree in the forest, and as long as they wore a mask, no man could touch them in a sexual way, not even me. They had to give up their mask to a man first. They had to consent not just with words but with deeds, baring to him what had been hidden. It worked quite well…” He took a long swig of his drink. “…at first. Magic has a tendency to produce unforeseen consequences.”
“What happened then?” I asked. He looked very pale again.
“The act of the girls turning over the mask to the men they loved became a magical pledge as strong as a marriage vow between them. And I cast the original spell. I created the bond between the tree and the masks. So I ended up picking up on the magical energy of their unions. All of them. No girl ever offered me her mask. In many ways, I didn’t truly want a mask or a wife. I didn’t want to give up the thrill of the chase. In a literal sense, I have never lain with a woman, believe it or not, but I sensed every pairing that happened under my watch, felt every pleasure as if it were my own, and in that sense hardly a moment went by when I was not awash in seduction. It was powerful magic, a drug to me and the main source of my power. It was hard, then, for me not to start interfering in the lives of my subjects, wanting them to join and push each other to new heights of pleasure. But…that isn’t what the Wicked Revels were about. They weren’t free anymore if I was controlling them.”
“And so…that was why they overthrew you?”
“Yes. I wooed the Princess Evaline of Torina, and that man who is now king snuck into the Revels and fell in love with her.” He frowned, silent for a time. “We fought over her as men do. But…some of my people encouraged Will to defeat me for good. I was drunk on the power of my own magic and rather than discuss it with me, they wanted me gone.”
“It is hard to discuss things with a king,” I said.
“I wasn’t the sort of king who put people in dungeons for arguing with me,” he said crossly. “But nevermind that. I was banished from the Revels. The masks have been abolished. King Will and Queen Evaline keep with the old rules, where the guards watch over the dancers and the people protect each other. It is only through the sacrifice and loyalty of my old baker Aramy that I am here in any capacity. But I am not allowed to see the festivities that were once my home. Will doesn’t trust me. He thought I was dead. If I wanted to remain in this realm, he sentenced me not to touch a woman, nor bring her pleasure, for three years—and banned me from the Wicked Revels for life.”
“Why didn’t you just…leave the realm?”
“This is my home. I won’t be run out of it by a human. I have no hope of happiness anywhere else.”
“So it’s because of Will that you can’t touch me. But how much of those three years have passed? Won’t you be able to touch again very soon?”
“Another curse was placed upon me,” the Magus said. “And that has nothing to do with Will. I can’t speak of it.”
“This curse…it means you won’t be able to touch me even when the three years are up?”
He paused. “That is one consequence, yes.”
“What else?”
“I can’t say.”
I realized this was something I could only find out on my own, so I changed subjects. “You said your old baker saved you. How did you end up as the baker?”
“Aramy offered me his job and taught me his trade, so I could stay here. It was the only way. The artisans of the Revels have the right to appoint their successors. Otherwise Will would have nothing to do with me.” He shoved his plate back, still half full of food. “It’s ridiculous. I am not a baker.”
“You seem quite good at it, though,” I said. “And don’t tell me you don’t enjoy it. I watched you all day.” I picked up his plate, almost out of habit, like I was cleaning the table after giving Hansel his dinner. “Why don’t you give me a taste of what you made today and I’ll tell you if you’re a baker or not?”
“You don’t have to clean up after me, my Gretel. That isn’t what you’re here for.”
“I don’t mind. I like moving around after a long day of…not doing much at all.”
He acquiesced. As I cleared the plates and took them to the sink, he went to the front room where all the cakes and sweets were laid out on the table. I kept passing him as I went back and forth. He selected a few of the small sweets and put them on a plate, and after I washed the dishes, they were waiting for me.
“Take them to bed if you like,” he said. “I need some s
leep myself. But Gretel?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t touch yourself. I will know. The taste of the chocolate will have to bear the weight of all your desires.”
Chapter Six
Gretel
I was indeed, very aroused, but also very tired, so I had no trouble following his rules. I wondered if he would make me stay bound up all day once again. The idea still made my body terribly excited but my mind dreaded another day of being idle. I wanted to get my hands on the all his beautiful ingredients.
When I came downstairs in the morning, the rack was still behind a curtain, and after making a quick breakfast that we ate in the kitchen, he gave me a paper box. I could feel the gentle weight of fabric inside.
“I want you to take your clothes off and put these on,” he said. “And then I believe you might like to help me in the kitchen.”
“You believe correctly, sir!”
“So enthusiastic,” he said, with a faint smile.
I opened the box. The first was a black ribbon choker with a pale blue stone at my throat. I hooked the clasp at the back of my neck, knowing it would show off my bare neck very well with my braids wound at the crown of my head. Next, the dress—I pulled it out and my stomach dipped when I saw what was beneath it, but that would wait. The gown was storm-blue, and the fabric was almost sheer. When I pulled off my sturdy wool and linen garments and put the dress on, it was like wearing cobwebs and clouds. It was sleeveless and clingy, in a silky way that moved with me. It barely covered my torso and back. The skirt had several long layers, but they were all thin, and all the outlines of my body remained visible.
“Very good,” he said. “I want to see you.”
His voice had a possessive note that drove me halfway to madness already. I don’t know why I wanted so much for him to want to see me, but it was not mere flattery. I didn’t feel like I was just a pretty girl for him. What had he said? Pleasure is its own sort of art. That was how I felt, like he was turning me into art. Not something merely pretty, but something a little bit uncomfortable. Something that made us both confront ourselves in different ways.
Tasting Gretel Page 4
